On Friday, I wrote about my great-great grandmother Sophronia (click her name to read the post) and how I believed she helped me when I was going through my divorce and separation. When I think of that story, I’m reminded of other ancestral connections I’ve had over the years. I believe I must have had some type of connection when I was a child through my teen years that eventually eased because I didn’t nurture it. Mostly because I didn’t know what it was and didn’t recognize it.
I think I hit upon that connection when I found my apartment with Sophronia’s help. I would love to know how to reconnect even more, so it is something I want to delve more deeply into. I believe in “woo-woo” stuff, so if that’s not for you, please don’t discount my experiences.
When I was a young girl, I loved the name Rose. That was the name I used most often when engaging in imaginary play. It was also the name of my pretend friend. I remember speaking a lot to Rose as a young girl. When I became pregnant with my daughter and we were deciding upon a name, I quickly landed upon the name of Amanda. I have a thing for more traditional names and names that are spelled easily. While I now love the unique spelling of my own name, it always pained me never to find anything with that spelling, while my siblings generally could find theirs. What I never knew until I became a young adult was that my great-grandmother (my grandfather’s mother) name was Amanda Rosa. Many would think this is coincidental, but for me, it’s another example of an ancestor speaking to me.
The daughter of Sophronia, whose name was Olive (mother of my dad’s mom), had an affinity for the Pekingese dog breed. She apparently had many of these dogs over the years. Again, I never knew this, but loved this breed as well. So much so that I started researching getting one when my then husband surprised me one year with a Pekingese puppy. It was after I got him that my dad shared with me how much his grandma had loved Pekingese. Macchi (short of Macchiato – as in Starbucks Carmel Macchiato a favorite drink of mine from Starbucks at the time) was my dog for 14 years when he died suddenly. (This is still very painful for me due to how he died and when he died.) Macchi had a lot of attitude packed into his small body. And, he was definitely my dog. Wherever I was in the house, he would follow me and lay next to me. He was very protective of me as well.
A couple of years after my great-grandad died, I was in my house by myself. My older brother was terribly abusive to me growing up, mentally, physically and sexually. I remember hearing my great-granddad’s voice and him telling me that I would be okay. His voice was clear as day. And while the abuse continued for many years after until I finally worked up the courage to tell my parents and my older brother eventually moved out of the house, I would often come back to that voice telling me I would be okay.
When my great-grandmother died (wife of my great-granddad above) many years later, my mom, my sister and I all had a similar dream a few months after her death. We remain convinced that she visited us to let us know she was okay.
Have you had any connections from your ancestors? How have they helped you?